


Just a Scribble Away

by chocolatecastleinthesky



Series: Pynch Week 2019 [1]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Background Robert Parrish, M/M, Pynch Week 2019, pynch - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 17:40:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20764328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocolatecastleinthesky/pseuds/chocolatecastleinthesky
Summary: A writing on the skin au a day late for Pynch week!





	Just a Scribble Away

**Author's Note:**

> no beta  
love comments  
this was written in a bit of a rush  
my idea was far more fleshed out in my head but words

It started when he was little. Adam noticed colors appear on his arms when he was around two. He was so excited to show his mother, and she told him quickly to not let his dad see them, that it would be their secret. She put a light jacket on him and sent him back to playing with his blocks. His father saw them a few weeks later, and that was the first time he hit Adam.

When Adam was four, he asked his mom why he kept changing colors but no one else did. She sat him on the table while she made a grilled cheese for lunch. “Some people believe in a thing called soulmates. If you have a soulmate, whatever you write on your skin will show up on theirs. But not everyone has one, and it can make people sad if they don’t and someone else does.”

Adam nodded. “Like Daddy.” She hummed in agreement, set the grilled cheese down, and went to clean the bathroom. He ate in silence, wondering about the colors and images that showed up on his arms and legs. Sometimes they were blotches, but other times they were shapes he was learning to identify.

When Adam went to school the next year, his teacher talked to them about soulmates. She said that less than half the people in the world have them, and that it is a really special thing. Adam told her that some people don’t like people who have them and she looked sad. His skin became more colorful as time went on that year, and his father beat him more. He was under no circumstances allowed to write back. His soulmate often write little things like, “Hi!” or drew smiley faces on his arms. Adam looked at them and frowned.

It was when Adam was seven that he could write back to the messages that were slowly growing longer. “What’s your name?” “Do you not like me?” “Can you read?” His father was going out for the night with friends, and his mother didn’t pay much attention when he got home. During school, he grabbed a yellow highlighter and scribbled on his arm. “I like you. I get in truble for talking to you.” A happy face was quickly followed by a sad one. New words appeared in neat writing, clearly from someone else. Since he was at school, he thought maybe it was a teacher.

“I don’t want you to get in trouble. But when we’re grown up, we can meet.” He ran to his teacher to have her read it and write back. She offered a soft smile, and using the highlighter he gave her, he told her what to write. “I would like that.”

It would take years for Adam to find a crayon that was practically his skin tone, something that would match his tanned skin. When he did, he started to write to his soulmate, hoping that it would keep him out of trouble but still stay in touch. His soulmate would always respond in beautiful colors, and soon they were colors that he could wipe off, too. He didn’t know how that worked, it was probably magic, but then again, science couldn’t explain soulmates, either.

* * *

By the time Ronan was two, finger painting was his favorite thing ever. His big brother didn’t like it, but he loved being messy and making the colors pretty. His mom always cleaned him up after and told him stories about soulmates that had found each other by writing or drawing messages on their skin. His dad told him these stories, too, when he was settling him into bed at night. He grew older, nearing school age, filled with these stories and writing the words he learned to write to his soulmate. He just knew he had one.

When Ronan found out his soulmate would get in trouble for writing to him, he came home crying. He rushed and hid against his mom’s apron as she baked in the kitchen, doing her best to soothe him. “Oh, my sweet boy. It’s okay. Things will be okay.” He didn’t want to hear a soulmate story that night.

At age nine, Ronan was shocked to see a light brown writing contrasting on his pale skin. “I’m very sad today” and a sad face next to it. Ronan pulled out his crayons, ignoring his teacher telling him it was math time, and quickly replied, “I’m sorry” and started to draw a picture. He drew the animals that lived on his farm and a barn before running out of room. When his teacher approached to reprimand him, she sighed and shook her head before gently reminding him to get back to work. Ronan had a small smile appear in the same shade of brown.

It was several days before Ronan had a faint brown appearance on his skin. It was a sad face followed by “I got in trouble at home.” Ronan remembered that he wasn’t allowed to write back to him, and when he got home, he pouted and scrubbed everything off his skin.

The next morning, Ronan woke up to find a huge set of markers on his bed. He ran downstairs for breakfast, carrying his prize. “Dad! Mom! Thank you for the markers!” They shared a secret glance. Niall took one and drew a smile on his skin in vivid red. He wiped his thumb over it, and nothing happened. He put a little spit on this thumb and repeated the action and the entire image disappeared. Ronan gasped. “They’re like magic!”

He couldn’t wait to put them to use by drawing his brother making faces at the table and the caption “stupid big brother but magic markers!” He left it on until lunch time at school and wiped it off quickly. The more he did this, drawing little pictures for his soulmate, the more he hoped that his soulmate would be happy. His soulmate always replied in that same brown crayon with a small smiley face or sent over a sad face.

One day, when he was ten, his soulmate sent over a lot of sad faces on his leg. He started to draw anything happy he could think of – the sun, flowers, hearts, cars, silly faces. He got a response, “Thank you. You’re the best part of my day.” It was being erased almost as quickly as it appeared. Ronan, determined, went to his dad to beg to take art classes.

* * *

Adam finally managed to get into Aglionby on a scholarship. He didn’t reply to his soulmate very often, he was too busy with work, school, and avoiding his father. He still received beautiful artwork that decorated his arms and legs, though his uniform covered it. He was always upset when a bruise marred one of the stunning designs his soulmate put so much effort into.

Gansey found him. And by extension, he became friends with Ronan and Noah. He couldn’t help but be self-conscious around them; Gansey often baring his arms in short-sleeved polos and Ronan’s frequent tank tops. He kept his hidden, mostly because of the bruises. He dreamed of the day he could show off his soulmate’s beautiful designs.

It happened one day in Latin class. The art teacher came and brought Ronan out for a quick chat. After that, he had permission to skip the science class he never attended anyway. Ronan, master of deflection, never let on what it was about. School was wrapping up, Blue had joined their group, and Ronan started going to school on their days off. This continued throughout the summer, leaving the rest of the group perplexed. Adam tried to wrap his head around it. He knew it wasn’t tennis. And it most definitely wasn’t academic. They didn’t have a racing club or anything. However, his time to contemplate things drew thinner until it all came to a head – Ronan hitting his dad, his ear going numb, and finding a new place to live. All thoughts were shoved to the wayside if they didn’t involve survival or Welsh kings. Unfortunately, the two became more entwined as the days passed.

It was at the end of summer, just two weeks before school started back up, that flyers started appearing for a new exhibit at one of the galleries downtown. It was titled “Henrietta: Through her own eyes” and Gansey insisted they all attend. It featured artwork in a variety of styles, broken into sections by artists and what Henrietta means to them. The works weren’t labelled with the artists’ names and it left an air of mystery about whose eyes they were looking through.

One section was dedicated to the flora and fauna of the area. One that focused on architecture and photography. One captured residents in their day to day activities. But the one that drew his attention the most was a series of sketches that were seemingly unrelated. The first he noticed was the outside of Nino’s – the neon sign, the smudgy window menu, the heads of people sitting past the windows. When he drew closer, he saw one of a row of expensive cars sitting just beyond the Aglionby gates. His eyes roamed over trees, Blue’s home, the public library bookshelves, gelato, the auto shop, Monmouth, and a series on hands – holding pencils, books, resting in the subject’s hair. The drawings sparked a sense of nostalgia in him that he never would have equated with the town he so desperately wanted to flee.

Gansey joined him, commenting on each piece. In a way, it felt eclectic and something that might come from Gansey’s journal. Yet it was commanding in its own way and Adam felt a pull like nothing else. He went to sit, pulling up his sleeves of a shirt he was too accustomed to wearing, and noticed a stunning drawing of feathers encapsulating hands. Hands that looked very familiar. He rushed to the exhibit and compared, eyes blown wide.

He found the nearest pen and scribbled. “Who are you? You’re featured in the exhibit, aren’t you?”

He sighed when he saw it say “yes” but no more.

“Can we meet?” A moment later, “We have.” Biting the inside of his cheek, he scribbled back, “Why haven’t you said anything?” Finally, “I haven’t been ready to say.”

This sat heavy on Adam’s mind until school started. Then, at the beginning of the year assembly, Headmaster Childs was commenting on the many accomplishments that students had achieved over their summer. He wouldn’t mention Adam’s of course – escaping an abusive father, working many jobs, paying rent on his own place – these weren’t worth of Aglionby. But artwork displayed downtown that had sold for quite a bit? That attracted his attention and Adam’s snapped to focus when the art teacher explained how Ronan Lynch had submitted several pieces that he had spent the last several months working on at the school.

He tried to make eye contact with Ronan, but he sat there chewing on his leather bands. Frustration mounted in Adam, but he couldn’t move until the assembly was over. When that happened, he pushed past Gansey’s attempts to congratulate their friend and dragged Ronan to the BMW.

“Look at me.” Adam was curt. Ronan finally made eye contact. “When did you find out?” There was no doubt in his mind, and he could feel the anger bubbling to the surface as other emotions warred for dominance. Ronan remained quiet. “Dammit, answer me Ronan.”

“Second week of Latin.” Adam stared in shock.

“Excuse me??”

“I was doodling on my hand a little, and I saw it pop up on yours.” He was avoiding eye contact yet again.

“You knew all this time.” Adam couldn’t process this kind of hurt.

“Yes.” He sighed. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think it was right to tell you when I was still so fucked up.” Adam was quiet. It was a whisper, something he could barely hear. “I learned to draw to try and cheer you up.”

“I’m still mad.” He stepped forward and kissed Ronan’s cheek. “But it worked.”

They returned to Gansey, hand in hand. They still bickered. They drove each other up the wall. But they continued their tradition of little drawings throughout the end of the year, long after Ronan had dropped out. When Adam finally left for college, he didn’t worry about his lack of cell phone; he could skype with Gansey, Blue, and Henry. And Ronan was just a scribble away.


End file.
